


Tear Us Apart

by serendipitousDescent



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:35:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitousDescent/pseuds/serendipitousDescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stood on one side of the bridge and on the other, he could almost see Alfred standing there. Except there would only be so much time before the supports gave away underneath them, leaving nothing but the broken ruins. </p>
<p>And then it was already happening so much sooner than it normally did. There was no time to waste as he broke into a sprint, desperate to get to the other side. That was the only place where he would be safe. But he could already see the sides of the bridge crumbling down into the darkness far below him. And Alfred only seemed to be getting farther and farther away from him. </p>
<p>A scream ripped from his throat as he fell with debris. </p>
<p>Maybe next time it wouldn't end in broken ruins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Greet Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dearies! I know that there might be a couple people out there that end up recognizing this story by one of the same name on ff.net but this isn't just a re-post of that. I've re-written it quite a bit to match my current writing style (which I'd really like to say has improved since then but you can be the judge of that) and hopefully I'll end up getting to the new content sooner or later.
> 
> Oh, and just in case you're worried, I am the same person as the one who posted the original Tear Me Apart. You're free to message me on there if you really want to make sure.
> 
> EDIT: Oh, wow, don't I sound like a prat? Anyways, trying to edit this again. Mostly minor changes to the first three chapters but you will see more of me. (Hopefully, I'm rather bad at keeping at these things.)

_August 14th, 1763._

Tail coats and hoop dresses filled the large, open room as they slowly moved from person to person. Quiet whispers and soft music, some of it intentional and some of it not, expanded to create an intricate dance all of its own. A single man in the centre of it all was moving from conversation to conversation with an ease that most would have struggled with. Those brief conversations were filled with passionate smiles and flirtatious winks as the man handed out his affections to every woman in sight. They giggled and blushed for those few precious moments and the men accompanying them tried not to glare at their host for the evening.

Matthew followed a few feet behind this man but he faded from most people’s minds soon after they were introduced.

He couldn’t fault them for not being as interested in him as they were in the more charismatic man he was following. Not when Matthew wasn’t paying them the slightest bit of attention either. Even his older brother, who had always easily attracted people’s gazes, was more interested in introducing his precious little brother to all of these people than he was in seeing if said people were even remotely interested. Matthew was more of a treasured toy than he was an actual person these days. 

Interested or not, Matthew let himself be led to a short, gruff-looking man who glared and grumbled at all who passed his way with piercing green eyes. He’d learned he couldn’t stop Francis when he was like this over the past few months. If he tried, he would face another inevitable argument later that night. They weren’t the more pleasant of experiences, to say the least.

“Monsieur Kirkland, it’s certainly a pleasure to see you here,” Francis smiled while mischief danced in his eyes. As if he was the only one privy to some joke, “I didn’t think you would accept my invitation after the last time we attended the same party.”

“Yes, well, I decided it would be for the best if I stayed away from the drink tonight lest the situation repeat itself. I don’t wish that disgrace and embarrassment on both of us again,” Mr. Kirkland replied, looking rather abashed, “Though you don’t seem rather concerned at the prospect.”

“Oh? You are much more of a pleasure to be around once you’ve had a few drink in you. Not that anyone here would be aware of that.” Even Francis had a sense of self preservation however, as he quickly motioned to Matthew who stood silently to the side, “I don’t believe you’ve had the opportunity to meet my younger brother-”

“And I don’t believe he’s incapable of introducing himself, frog! He has a mouth on him and I don’t doubt you’d have him hidden away if he were a mute.”

Mr. Kirkland turned his gaze to Matthew expectantly but he only stared back in surprise. Francis looked shocked at the comment as well and an image of distaste passed over the older man’s face but he took a small step backwards. Matthew let his eyes flicker between Mr. Kirkland and his brother, hesitating for a brief moment before he took a small, careful step forward to fill the empty space.

A few moments passed as he searched for the right words and Francis stared at him expectantly. “I’m Matthew Williams, Francis’s half-brother. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland, Francis has mentioned you a few times.”

Mr. Kirkland snorted. “And I’m certain none of it should be repeated in current company, polite or not. Regardless, it’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Williams. As my own relative seems incapable of intro- Alfred, stop flirting! There wasn’t any lack of women in the colonies and there’s no need for you to do more now.”

The blond man chatting amiably a foot away turned slightly at the address. For a moment, Matthew thought he was going to simply turn back but then the two women he’d been speaking with laughed softly to each other before they turned and wandered off to find another to talk to. They didn’t look back even as this… Alfred stared after them but when he looked back at them, there wasn’t a hint of disappointment on his features.

“Sorry, Art! They wanted me to go on a stroll with them through the gardens. I wasn’t about to tell them to find someone else. Not pretty girls like that. And you do have the nicest gardens, Mr. Bonnefoy. They sure beat Art’s at any rate,” Alfred said, beaming.

Francis eyed the newcomer suspiciously. “Of course they are. I wouldn’t stand for anything less.”

“Introduce yourself already, prat. You look like a fool,” Mr. Kirkland snapped.

“Oh, yes, right. I’m Alfred F. Jones, Art’s cousin. Just moved in with him a few weeks back, actually.”

Mr. Jones’s eyes settled on Matthew then, their gazes interlocking for a brief moment before Matthew quickly looked away. Francis and Mr. Kirkland had started arguing about gardens but Matthew had already tuned out his surroundings. Including Mr. Jones who wasn’t about to settle for that. The blond took a step towards him, blue eyes sparkling with purpose, and reached for one of his gloved hands.

Both Francis and Mr. Kirkland paused their heated conversation as they noticed what was happening. Even Matthew stared down at Mr. Jones in disbelief, lips gently parted as he tried to process the sight in front of him. But Mr. Jones wasn’t looking at him, gaze fixed on Matthew’s thin wrists. Just as his lips were firmly pressed against the soft leather.

(And Matthew found himself wishing for the first time in his life that he was a woman, simply so he could return the public affections of this strange man.)

Those lips lingered there a moment longer than necessary but Matthew couldn’t gather the courage to pull away. That would have been the proper thing to do. But instead, he silently wished he’d left his gloves upstairs for the night, so Mr. Jones’s lips would be pressed against his bare skin instead. He was more than grateful that he could keep such thoughts to himself.

Already, those who could see them were whispering to each other. Francis quickly stepped in between them, biting anxiously at the inside of his cheek. Matthew’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t for his own benefit. It couldn’t be, so long as Francis’s own reputation was at stake.

Such relations between men were unspoken of. Much more suited to a back alleyway than a place of prestige.

“Alfred!” 

The look in Mr. Kirkland’s eyes promised pain and death, likely through the act of wrapping his fingers around his cousin’s slim throat. The only reason he didn’t was to keep up appearances in front of those who could damn his every move. 

“I hope you’ll forgive Alfred’s entirely inappropriate behaviour. He lived in the colonies up until recently and I have no doubt he learned this wretchedness from those disgusting inbreds over there,” Mr. Kirkland addressed Matthew as he tugged Mr. Jones back onto his feet.

“I don’t need to be defended, Mr. Kirkland,” Matthew said, glancing briefly over at Mr. Jones, “His actions didn’t offend me and if they had, I would have done something about it.”

“There wasn’t?”

“Really?” Mr. Jones echoed.

“If I were really offended then I would’ve had a fit and then ran back to my room to pout for the rest of the night. However, I see no more reason to act like a spoiled child in response to an innocent gesture than I do to respond to a degrading comment about my home,” he confirmed.

A wide smile slowly spread across Mr. Jones’s handsome features as he radiated excitement. Matthew couldn’t hold back a small smile of his own at the sight of it as they shared some sort of understanding. Something he didn’t really understand but felt nonetheless.

“It appears you’re not the only one to has to apologize tonight, Monsieur Kirkland. Mathieu’s strange sense of humour comes up at the most inconvenient times. Isn’t that right, cherie?” Francis added, his eyebrows set in disapprovement. 

Matthew opened his mouth to retort when something familiar caught his eye. A tall woman stood off to the side, wringing her wrists, and was accompanied by an even taller man who smiled darkly at all who looked their way as they whispered to each other. Matthew could feel himself relaxing at the sight of them. Now thoroughly distracted, he was blind to the small exchange between the three men around him.

He’d hoped they would make it but seeing them standing there felt a dream come true.

“A joke, of course. I’m sorry but I have to leave. A couple of friends of mine just arrived and I’ve been wanting to see them since they told me they’d be coming. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland, Mr. Jones,” Matthew delayed a moment before he looked over at Mr. Jones again, “We really didn’t get nearly enough time to chat.”

“Hopefully another time then, before Art and I head back over the Channel,” Mr. Jones agreed.

“That would be wonderful.”

Letting out a small breath of relief, he turned and headed towards the couple talking quietly to themselves in the corner. Once the party was over and done with, he would definitely be in for a stern talking to about his behaviour but that had become as commonplace as these elaborate parties were. Normally, the argument would be a demand for Matthew to be more outgoing and talkative. That wouldn’t be the case this time around. At the very least, Francis’s memory was on the shorter side.

His thoughts turned back to Mr. Jones. No matter what he’d felt a few minutes before, such things were unacceptable.

* * *

_October 3rd, 2014._

Al stared at the rickety stairs in the middle of the upstairs hallway. Arthur hadn’t said a word about cleaning up the attic when he’d talked to him a few minutes before.

His imagination was working overtime as it thought about all the things this could mean. Such as some sort of crazy, vengeful spirit hiding out up there, just waiting for him to fall into its trap. He was going to have to spring that trap. Otherwise, Al would be responsible for what it did to Arthur. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he put his hands on an old, wooden step, hesitantly starting to climb up the stairs. The tremors in his shoulders were impossible to hide. His eyes squeezed shut as he peeked his head up through the hole in the ceiling. When nothing happened to him, he cautiously opened his eyes.

“Matt, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you, you know, be at home or something?”

The thin, wiry man sitting on the attic floor jumped at the exclamation and the book in his hand toppled to the floor. Al snickered, no longer worried now that he could see Matt. (Spirits haunting the attic? As if he’d actually been scared thinking about it.) Matt didn’t seem as amused with the situation as he glared at Al.

“I have to do a term paper on a family heirloom and it’s history but all of ours are still in France with my family there. Papa wasn’t too interested in any of them,” Matt explained, gingerly picking the book up.

Al was still laughing softly to himself as he hauled himself up the rest of the stairs. “And I bet you’re having the time of your life up here, searching through Artie’s weird stuff. Dork.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” Matt muttered, long, thin fingers running over the yellowed pages, “Besides, these things are interesting? I know you say Arthur’s just a pack rat but some of the things hidden away up here are really cool. He wouldn’t have kept them otherwise. Plus, it’s amazing to think of people using these things hundreds of years ago.”

There was a small smile tugging on Al’s lips, even as he rolled his eyes. He’d heard Matt say stuff like this a million different times and if he didn’t really understand, it was funny to see Matt get all worked up about it. The floorboards groaned underneath Al’s weight as he plodded across the attic and sat down in the large recliner in the corner. Long since used to Al’s presence, Matt didn’t even glance up from the small, leatherbound book.

“So, what’s it about? I don’t think Artie mentioned any books being up here, other than old paperbacks,” Al asked, his body spreading to fill the entire chair.

“I… think it’s a journal,” Matt said softly.

“Cool.”

Matt hummed in agreement but nothing was able to distract him from something he was interested in, as Al knew from experience. There was nothing he could do except wait for Matt to grow bored with the ratty old thing. Al’s fingers tapped restlessly against his knee to an imaginary beat as his gaze swept through the room every few seconds. His video games called for him from downstairs as the urge to go shoot some zombies grew. But that wasn’t an option.

(Not to mention, he might be leaving Matt to some treacherous fate at the wisp hands of an evil ghost if he left now. It would do horrible, terrifying things to Matt. He knew it. And Matt was far too pretty and slight to put up much of a fight.)

A light shined in Al’s eyes, his body startling at the sight and his head swivelled to look at it. “It” being nothing more than a small, handheld mirror. The sun had broken through the clouds outside and was glaring right at him from the mirror’s reflection. Al looked away and pretended nothing had happened. There was a reason why he didn’t go up here unless he absolutely had to.

“I don’t know what to think about this,” Matt said, staring at the book’s pages as if that would it reveal its secrets.

“Huh, how come?” Al asked.

Matt frowned and his grip on the leather cover tightened before he wordlessly passed it to Al. The book was worn and smooth with age despite its ratty appearance as someone had obviously taken good care of it over the years. Al could stop himself from feeling the cover’s soft leather before he opened it to the first page.

Whoever had written it wrote in an elaborate font that must have taken forever to write out. Pretty but difficult to read without practice. The first words that became looked legible to him were names. Names that he wouldn’t have mistaken at any point in his life. Francis. Matthew. Mr. Kirkland. Alfred. Mr. Jones. Mr. Williams. Al’s eyes jumped back up to the top of the page and he started from the beginning again, trying his best not to skip a single word. Once he’d gotten to the end of the first page, he looked over at Matt as his best friend stared at him silently.

“Who wrote this?” Al choked out.

Matt looked away, suddenly focused on the floor. “I did, apparently.”

* * *

_August 14th, 1763._

“I’m so glad you were able to make it!” Matthew exclaimed, beaming at his friends, “I wasn’t sure if you would, given that last letter you sent.”

The quiet conversation between them came to a halt as they focused their attention on him. Far too much time had gone by since Matthew had last seen either of them. The letters they regularly sent each other didn’t compare. Over paper, Matthew wasn’t able to see how Katyusha’s face had gotten thinner, making her eyes look wider. Or how Ivan had hardened, both in appearance and temperament. They both appeared happy now but Matthew knew that hadn’t been the case most of this last year. 

“Matvey, it’s been too long!” Katyusha informed him, her shoulders slowly relaxing. 

Matthew stumbled backwards as she flung her arms around him but her excitement was contagious and he pulled her tight. She felt far too slight, too fragile in his grasp but neither dared to pull away quite yet. Even Ivan rested a hand on Matthew’s shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, Matthew didn’t feel as if he would disappear at any given moment.

The grin on Katyusha’s features matched his own when they finally pulled away from each other. And for a moment, Matthew could picture it. He could seem them living together in a large home with their children running about. They would be happen but only to a point. She was beautiful and he loved her dearly but those feelings would never expand past what someone would feel for a sister.

“You’re even more beautiful than you were the last time I saw you,” Matthew said, taking her hands in his own even as he stepped back.

Katyusha laughed. “If I listen to your praise then such a thing is impossible. You already speak as if I were the most beautiful in all of the land.”

“You wouldn’t surprise me so much if it weren’t true.”

“You are too charming for your own good, Matvey. It will surely get you in trouble one day. Come, you must show me these gardens people go on and on about. Ivan will accompany us.”

“As if I would trust my sister not to keep you to herself all not,” Ivan agreed, his usual childish smile growing fond.

Matthew’s voice dropped as he focused his gaze on Ivan. “It doesn’t matter which one of you hogs me for the rest of the night, so long as we go somewhere quieter. There was a bit of a scene a few minutes ago and Francis was merciless.”

Katyusha nodded and linked their arms together without a word, instantly understanding. Her head rested on Matthew’s shoulder with ease despite her height as they walked towards the open glass doors, Ivan trailing behind them. The crowd thinned the closer they got to the doors. Few people bothered to venture outside without another accompanying them. The sky was dark but the summer air wasn’t the least bit chilly. That meant little to those who craved the excited inside, leaving the outdoors only for those who wanted to be left alone.

“It’s much different here,” Katyusha whispered as they stepped outside, “It’s colder back there this year but it’s often warmer than this.”

The three of them continued through the gardens like that for a while. Appearances were everything here and a few bystanders were lingering just outside the door, seeking fresh air and a bit of gossip. Only once they disappeared behind one of the many rows of roses did Matthew and Katyusha unlink arms and walk at a more comfortable distance from each other.

They came to a stop at the end of a row where a small gazebo was hidden away from sight. The exquisite roses had been arranged to give the area a sense of privacy and unless someone was in Francis’s room, they wouldn’t be able to see them. Matthew had made sure several times over after he’d found it.

“How’s Natalia? She normally sends the occasional letter but I haven’t heard from her for months now,” Matthew asked, keeping his eyes on the wearied woman even as he stepped inside the gazebo.

“I’m unsure. She hasn’t sent word me or Vanya in months either and Mother will only tell me she’s gravely ill and needs to stay away until she recovers or she’ll infect me as well,” Katyusha said, her voice growing sombre as she admired a rose intertwined in the gazebo, “It worries me that we’ve gone so long without hearing from her.

Ivan sighed deeply, sitting down on a cushioned seat. “You’re foolish to believe her, sister. One way or another, she must have found out about Natalia’s part in your little charade. Now her and Natalia’s birth mother are doing everything in their power to keep her from you.”

“Our mother doesn’t mean badly, Vanya, even if it often seems that way.”

“Then she would be letting you do what makes you happy. There’s no excusing that.”

“Ivan, are you sure they would keep Natalia away for that? There’s always the chance she’s truly ill,” Matthew asked softly and rested his hand on Ivan’s shoulder.

Ivan’s shoulders dropped at the contact and he shook his head. “No, about this, I’m certain.”

Katyusha let out a strangled breath and her knuckles turned white as she gripped onto the wooden ledge of the open structure. Her shoulders were shaking and she looked as though she were standing in a glass house while Matthew and Ivan threw rocks at it. A moment passed and then another before she quietly excused herself. They watched her as she wandered further away from the house until she disappeared from sight behind a row of rose bushes.

“I wish I could do something,” Matthew commented, still watching the spot Katyusha had just disappeared from as he sat down.

Ivan wearily turned his head towards Matthew. “Even if she’d accept help from us, you shouldn’t be the one to give it to her, Matvey.”

“What are you talking about? There’s no reason why I shouldn’t!”

“My sister, she doesn’t notice but I believe that’s for the best. She has enough on her mind with this business with Natalia. But here? Here you are nothing more than a bird with clipped wings.” Ivan waved a hand towards the expansive house.

Matthew stared at it as he fiddled with his fingers.

“It’s in the little things, yes? It’s not that you’re miserable in this place but you’re not content. Unhappy, some would say, but not sad. When you found the chance to visit last year, the change in you was very obvious. I’m not blind and I wish you wouldn’t treat me as if I were. You belong in your colony where you can do as you wish. Where you don’t have to worry about that half-brother of yours watching your every move.”

“Are any of us truly happy?” Matthew asked, breaking his gaze away from the well-lit house, “I’d give up anything to go back there, even if I try not to think about it too much.”

“Matvey, we all have our hardships. There’s nothing we can do about that. The difference is that the rest of us are trying to make the best of a bad situation while you just sit and pretend there’s nothing you can do to make it better. It’s not healthy.”

“No, but neither is you being mistrusted everywhere you go because of your country! Healthy isn’t being forced apart from the person you love, like Katyusha is, or how Lars is separated from his sister so they both can survive. I wouldn’t consider Gilbert’s life of hiding away healthy, not when he can’t talk to his loved ones because he’s being hunted down for a crime he didn’t commit. Those aren’t healthy thing. Staying here to support my brother through his grief is the least I can do after the things our father did to him.”

“Even if you must take on your father’s grievances, you could make the best of it.”

Matthew dropped his gaze down to his lap.

“You aren’t Katyusha and you aren’t me or Lars or Gilbert. If you cannot find a way to enjoy the things you have left then you should take a ship back to where you belong.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you have no to blame but yourself.”

“No, you don’t understand. I really can’t. I tried to leave on a whim once, a few months ago, and ever ship in the port denied me passage. The last one I went to finally took pity on me and said that Monsieur Bonnefoy had donated money to their ‘business’ with the understanding that they couldn’t let me board a ship without him there to see me off.”

“You could go to a different port if you truly wanted.”

“No, I couldn’t. Come, I need to show you something.”

There was a word spoken between them as Matthew stood up and walked out of the gazebo with Ivan walking beside him. Neither of them spared more than a glance towards Katyusha as they strolled pat her. Matthew’s eyes stayed focused on the path ahead of him as he fought his way through the maze of roses, struggling to remember the route in the dark. Finally, they stumbled upon what Matthew had been looking for. A place so different from the rest of the gardens that was filled to the brim with roses.

“Why did you bring me here, Matvey?” Ivan asked, looking at the rows of lilies. 

Matthew knelt down to look at them. “He’s known for roses, not for lilies but he likes lilies more than he likes roses. The gardener told me he planted some of both over a decade ago. The only difference was that the lilies needed to be coaxed into growing properly while the roses took to this place with ease. That’s why everyone knows about them instead. Then he grew more roses. This is actually all he has left of the lilies but he loves them all the same.”

“I don’t understand what this has to do with why you won’t leave this place. Your half-brother has a thing for flowers, it isn’t news to anyone.”

“It has everything to do with why I won’t leave. I realized it a few weeks ago but he’s not happy here either. I haven’t known him as anything other than the unreasonable man he is now but it would be cruel to leave him to mourn here alone. I can’t leave him anymore than you could just up and leave Katyusha.”

“...I’m sorry I pushed the matter, Matvey.”

The multi-coloured flowers swayed in the summer breeze, oblivious to their audience. Matthew couldn’t help but wonder how often Francis came out here himself to tend to them, to make sure they would thrive a little bit longer. There was no doubt they were beautiful. They didn’t have the elegance or the romantic symbolism a rose had but that only added to their charm. That and how much care had been put into keeping them alive.

“It’s fine,” Matthew whispered.

He couldn’t tear his soft gaze from the flowers. These pretty, delicate flowers had been kept hidden away from everyone but it was proof that somehow, somewhere, Francis did care. And if Matthew hadn’t stumbled upon them then he’d likely be on a ship back to the one place he called home at this very moment.

“It’s fine.”

* * *

_October 3rd, 2014._

Al stared blankly at the end of the first entry. How could he believe Matt had written this? Matt who had never had a serious argument with Francis in his life. Matt who always looked happy and content. It couldn’t have been forged. Not when the book was so obviously dated with its ratty appearance, yellowed pages, and the entry dating over two centuries ago. Not when Matt was pale and confused.

“There’s no way this is real,” Al said, gaping.

Matt nodded silently, continuing to watch the journal just as he had the entire time Al had been reading. It looked so innocent from the cover, like any other book. But it wasn’t just another book. There were too many coincidences, too many things that lined up.

Starting from the beginning again, Al read it through, taking the time to really figure out what was happening outside of this version of Matt being at a party. It was still just as unbelievable as the first time. Rustling noises filled the room as Matt started to browse through the other cardboard boxes lying about. 

The author of the journal had a strange way of writing in comparison to the current Matt, a bit too formal here and there. But Al’s doubt quickly diminished as he continued to reread that first entry. There were bits and pieces of the narrative that sounded like Matt, like how he fiddled with his fingers whenever he was nervous about something.

“Hey,” Al started as he read a line for the fourth time over.

Matt didn’t bother looking up from the box. “I’m just searching for other things like this. They might give us a better image of what happened.”

“No, look at this!” Al turned the book around and point to a section, “You met me at this party thing. It sounds like you didn’t know quite what to think about me. Isn’t that cool?”

“Cool? Right. That’s definitely the word you would be using describe this.”

“You were just saying this sort of thing is really cool, Matt! You can’t say you changed your mind because of this. Us being there just makes it even more interesting. Even I’m interested in this ratty, old thing now!”

“It’s too personal, Al. What if it was your journal I was reading through?”

“I don’t write in journals, dude.”

“Al.”

Ignoring him, Al started on the next entry without another word. The journal was drawing him in and he found himself wanting to know everything he could. The more he read, the more it felt like an insight into Matt’s mind, an insight into how he really saw the world. It wasn’t just the way Matt reacted to things but what he thought about them and why. Matt almost never came out and told him what he felt about something.

“Al, I think you should look at this. It’s… yours, I think,” Matt said, tentatively breaking the silence.


	2. Dine with Me

_August 15th, 1763_

Gilbert stood in front of Matthew, his back straight and his chin tilted upwards. The open area was empty with the exception of the two of them but Matthew’s gaze still swept around in search of life. The party may have ended the night before but a few guests had stayed the night. Even more had come back today for one last meal at the Bonnefoy Manor.

Any one of them could through the halls to see this mysterious guest and most would recognize him. 

Matthew’s shoulders were slumped and his eyes were heavy. Ivan and Katyusha hadn’t been able to stay long but he’d woken up earlier than he normally would have to see them off. That he had to deal with Gilbert before dealing with the rest of the things Francis undoubtedly had planned was just another point towards his exhaustion. Already he was looking forward to retiring back to his room for the night and then sleeping well into the morning. 

“Birdie, I really don’t care if Francis has company this afternoon. My greatness can’t be shoved under the rug like dirty laundry!” Gilbert argued for the umpteenth time.

“I know,” Matthew agreed, softly.

“Then why insist on locking me up in that closet of a room some more!”

Matthew flinched but carried on forward. “And what if someone recognized you? You’re not exactly inconspicuous, Gil.”

“I’m more than capable of dealing with it if they do manage to see my subtle self.”

“I know but what would you do if they did recognize you? Run again?”

“Matthew!”

“Please, you’ve only been here a few months. Your body wouldn’t be able to handle going through that again so soon.”

Gilbert stared up at Matthew for a few seconds before letting out a weathered sigh. “Fine, you win, birdie. But only this time.”

The fight had faded out of Gilbert, replaced by the sombre air that came with being reminded of the realities of his life. Still, Matthew couldn’t help but he relieved that this time Gilbert gave in to his petty request. His guilt at keeping his friend locked away wasn’t enough to outweigh knowing Gilbert would be safe for the time being. Bored and lonely, perhaps, but still safe.

“Come on, you can at least walked with me before you’re forced to go entertain Francis and his legion of followers for the rest of the day,” Gilbert grumbled.

Matthew frowned at the reminder. “You make it sound as if I enjoy being lugged around.”

“Just as enjoyable as getting teeth pulled, undoubtedly.”

The quiet atmosphere cracked as they shared a glance at the shared memory. An understanding air surrounded them as they fell in step with each other, walking through the large manor. Gilbert’s room was the final destination but neither of them were in any particular hurry to get there.

The house felt so different than it had the night before. The image of large amounts of people filling the crowded ballroom to the very brim faded when compared to how large and empty it looked now. Everything was subdued and Matthew couldn’t deny that he preferred it this way. Even the extra staff had been sent home and most of the guests had left the night before. A few more days and everything would be back to normal at this rate.

Matthew slipped his long, bare fingers into his pocket, not faltering as he continued to walk. The smooth, worn metal was heavy in his hand, each ridge and grooved etched into it as familiar as his own body. Even the gesture itself was a familiar one.

And it easily caught Gilbert’s attention. “You’re still carrying that useless old thing around? It doesn’t even say the right time.”

“I don’t care if it’s broken. Its sentimental value is far more important to me.”

“Heh, you and your sentiment.”

“It’s important to me, alright?” Matthew muttered.

Gilbert’s laughter halted as they came to a stop in front of a bedroom door. They lingered there, both of them hesitant to move one with their day. Matthew would have traded places with Gilbert right then and there if he could have. 

But recent times had been rough on everyone. Ivan’s words from the night before came back to him, the rush of guilt now much more difficult to ignore. He didn’t have to hide in a glorified prison for an undetermined amount of time. He didn’t have to hope his friends and family wouldn’t forget to remember him. Matthew didn’t have a reason to be broken.

Gilbert, on the other hand, had a million reasons to break down and here he was, worn but not still managing. Keeping out of the way was difficult for him and Matthew wasn’t making that any easier on him. His eyes flickered between the door and the hallway; he knew he should just leave now and keep his promise to Francis. Things would be better for Gilbert if he just spoke up about it now. Matthew was certain it would make Gilbert feel a bit less isolated. 

Still, Matthew briefly hesitated, knowing the impact his words would have. “Mr. Edelstein was one of the guests last night. His coachman had a bit too much to drink last night and he couldn’t leave while the man was in such a state.”

“Is he still here?” came Gilbert’s voice, slow and measured.

Matthew refused to look at him, the words clogging up in the back of his throat.

“Matthew, please.”

“He’s across the hall from the piano room on the third floor. From what I last heard, he should still be there.”

Gilbert silently squeezed Matthew’s shoulder before he took off down the corridor. If Matthew closed his eyes, he could picture what his friend would do next. March up to Mr. Edelstein’s door, without a doubt, and then keep on knocking until he got an answer. Maybe the two of them would fight, just like in the wild tales Gilbert told.

He hoped they wouldn’t.

But Gilbert’s departure meant he couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer and Matthew went back down the hallway the way he’d came. Francis had requested his presence in the conservatory, even though he doubted anyone would notice he was there. The only thing that made the thought even slightly bearable was the chance the strange man he’d met last night could possibly be there.

At least Gilbert’s day would be interesting.

* * *

_October 3rd, 2014_

“Mine? What’s mine?” Al asked as he looked up from the journal.

Al set the book aside as Matt silently offered him what appeared to be a pocketwatch. It looked old but worn as if it had been used regularly for a long time. Rust had begun to form along the crease in the metal, yet another testament to its age. Matt opened up the pocketwatch without prompting and then things became clear.

His full name had been carved into the inner portion of the lid, clearly visible next to the small clock. Even his middle name was there, instead of just his middle initial.

“Woah,” Al whispered in awe.

“You should take it.” Matt smiled grimly. “I think it was probably important to you back then.”

Al grabbed the exquisite antique from Matt, his fingers running over the smooth metal. His curiosity only lasted a moment before his mind was filled with impression of something and the watch went tumbling to the ground. 

The smell of roses on a warm summer’s breeze. Laughter on a horizon, paired with a smile so wide and so beautiful, it could have broken a mirror. Wet, salty tears dripping down pale cheeks. Whispered promises whose contents could only be guessed at. Long, thin fingers caressing a beautiful design long since embedded into metal. A loud chime going off in the distance as the heavy scent of coal filled the air.

“This isn’t mine, Matt.”

Matt stared at the pocketwatch laying on the ground with guarded eyes. “I don’t understand. Why else would your name be on it?”

“I don’t know. That’s just the feeling I got,” Al admitted, turning his gaze to the watch as well.

“A feeling? But Al, that’s your name on the watch. I don’t understand any of this but why would your name be on someone else’s watch, only to turn up in your home?” Matt pressed.

“Please, I don’t know how - I just…”

Matt let out a low, strangled sigh and turned back to the open boxes around him. Only then did Al let himself look back down at the pocketwatch laying haphazardly on the floor. He couldn’t believe it had belonged to him at any point in time, even if that was his name on it. Even touching it had felt wrong, as if he should have shoved it back into Matt’s hands the moment he took it. Al looked away silently and grabbed the journal once more.

* * *

_August 15th, 1763_

The sun warmed Matthew’s shoulders through the conservatory’s glass walls. No one had approached him in the last hour, just as he’d predicted. Even his glass of wine, the second one thus far, wasn’t enough to take the edge off his boredom, though he desperately wished it would.

This was a rather small gathering by Francis’s standards. Only about fifteen men were fathered in the room, talking amongst themselves. They were most likely complimenting the decadent food set out or the view of the rose gardens through the panes of glass. The conversations never changed much. He couldn’t quite grasp why people found them so captivating, even discussions on politics never held his attention for long. 

Matthew’s eyes skimmed the room again, idly pretending he wasn’t looking for Mr. Jones amongst the men. To think all of them had been born into money, never having to worry about anything more than their wife, future or current, or their inheritance. Even Francis knew little more than the safety money brought, regardless of his grief. Matthew took another sip of his wine. If only he could get something stronger to drink.

If he tried to, he’d almost definitely get another lecture from Francis.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Matthew startled, his wine spilling over onto his hand. The glare on his face was harsh as he looked over at Mr. Jones who stood there innocently. As if he hadn’t just snuck up beside Matthew for the sole purpose of scaring him.

“Was that necessary, Mr. Jones? Most people don’t like being surprised like that,” Matthew chided, relaxing again.

Mr. Jones’s laugh was loud and genuine. “It was, it really was. You were just standing there, so lost in thought that it was impossible to resist. I’ll apologize if it makes you feel better. Can I call you Matthew, by the way? Feel free to call me Alfred.”

The bright, easy grin on Mr. Jones’s face did nothing to combat the muddled swamp Matthew’s mind had become. He immediately wanted to protest but the words wouldn’t come forward, no matter how much he wanted them to. There was a burning sensation in his cheeks and the tips of his ears and he tried to press it back, however hopelessly. He’d never deal well with embarrassment. 

“Matthew, are you alright? You appear to be a bit on the flushed side. It’s likely the wine, I think it’s a bit stronger than it first seems.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Jones, really.” Mr. Jones drooped at the formality but Matthew continued on, “In the meantime, Francis and Mr. Kirkland are undoubtedly much better company than me.”

“I doubt it. I mean, just look at them.”

Matthew laughed lightly as he did as was suggested. “I can’t fight against that argument. Francis looks ready to reach for a butter knife just to see how much damage he could do with it.”

“That’s why I came over to talk to you. I suppose I could have gone to one of the other, far more boring men in the room but after last night, you seemed to be the far more interesting option.”

“I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression then.” Matthew took another sip of his wine, turning his gaze away from Mr. Jones, “The truth is that I’m no more interesting than the next person.”

“Prove it.”

“How? I doubt you’d take me at my word.”

Mr. Jones grinned again but this time the intensity of the man’s gaze made Matthew feel out of place. There had to be something here he was missing except he didn’t know what it was. Whatever had happened between them last night had obviously been a coincidence brought on by the prospect of someone paying attention to him. But somehow they seemed to be crossing a line with this conversation despite his suspicions that Mr. Jones saw him as nothing more than a good laugh.

Once more, Matthew craved the safety of his room and the warmth of his bed. He would be more than happy to lay there until morning came if he didn’t have to stay here. Even if he’d only feel worse if he just laid there for hours.

“That flush of yours just keeps getting worse. Maybe you should sit down for a little while? I could join you if you’d like the company,” Mr. Jones asked.

“I-” Matthew paused, realizing what Mr. Jones was getting at, “Yes, I’d like that.”

Nobody noticed as they slipped out the door, too caught up in their own discrepancies. Matthew stopped a maid in the hall for a moment as they walked, asking to have the study prepared with drinks and something light to eat.

They went the long way through the maze of the house, comfortable in the silence they shared. Eventually they reached the study and a maid curtseyed to them as she quickly left the room. A platter of wine glasses and freshly baked buns were set out for them already. Matthew couldn’t help but feel a bit amazed at the speed they performed these tasks; he’d have to go down and thank them later, as well as beg them not to tell Francis.

Mr. Jones sat down, looking at ease even in the unfamiliar room. “Art mentioned you’re not from around here.”

“No, I’m not,” Matthew confirmed as he sat across from him, “Francis and I share a father but not a mother and so I didn’t grow up here. I lived Montreal up until I came here. It was quite a disappointment when I found out it’s British territory now.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard that opinion much! A lot of people think the French states will do better under British rule, even if we haven’t seen proof of that yet. I’m from America myself but we’ve always been under British rule there.”

The couch’s upholstery suddenly became very interesting, his finger tracing the intricate design printed on the fabric. The silence lingered in the air as neither of them knew quite what to say. Matthew didn’t want to so much as look at Mr. Jones as he couldn’t do so without remembering the man’s lips upon the back of his hand. His opinion on the British in his home only made it all the more difficult to bare.

“Does it ever get easier being here?” Mr. Jones asked, abruptly breaking the silence.

Something caught in Matthew’s throat as he continued to examine the couch. Nobody had ever asked him such a thing but how could he answer it? Mr. Jones was a virtual stranger to him and he’d never even explicitly told those he was close with about how much he missed his home.

“Do the days ever stop being long?” he finally responded.

“No. I - shit. I hoped they’d get shorter.”

Matthew’s eyes flickered up momentarily. “You miss it then? I wasn’t sure if you’d wanted to leave America or not.”

“I didn’t.” Mr. Jones shifted, the movement barely visible from the corner of Matthew’s eye. “I would have lived my entire life there if I could have. But I hope to make the best of my time here, even if it won’t be the same.”

Matthew was staring in earnest now with new understanding. There was longing resting right underneath the other man’s surface, similar to the feeling that simmered underneath his skin whenever he thought of Montreal. Montreal with its busy streets and hot familiarity that would always feel like home.

Bright blue eyes suddenly caught his own, his heart beating fiercely away in his chest as he realized he couldn’t tear his gaze away. This was too unfamiliar, too foreign to him. Yet, his entire being seemed to be softening towards the prospect of crossing that invisible line once again. Even the intensity in Mr. Jones’s face was back and still, he couldn’t discern the emotions hidden there.

Breaking eye contact now would have been the polite thing to do.

Matthew knew he should. Things weren’t normal between them but maybe if he looked away now, suddenly everything would be normal again. Things would right again. But the idea that they could go back to normal made him sick to his stomach. 

“Why did you do it?” Matthew blurted, the soft words expanding to fill the silence.

“I do lots of things, Matthew,” Alfred responded.

“Last night.” His voice cracked. “Last night, when you introduced yourself.”

Mr. Jones tilted his head but there was a grin playing at the corners of his lips. “I thought introducing myself was the proper thing to do.”

“It is, but-”

“But what?”

“I’m not a woman, you realize? Especially not a woman you want to court.”

“Just like earlier, I couldn’t resist myself,” Mr. Jones dropped the act, the voice impossibly fond, “Even if you took it as a joke than at least you might have smiled at me. A real smile. Not the fake one you’d been giving everyone all evening.”

“So it didn’t mean anything then?”

There was a bitter taste on Matthew’s tongue. The admission felt as if everything had been sucked out of him and the only thing left behind was an empty shell. He took another gulp from his glass, the taste of the wine doing nothing to cover up the bitterness in his mouth. He’d been foolish, had acted like a child seeking attention. And even if he was lonely, like Ivan had suggested he was, he shouldn’t be looking for company in all the wrong places.

“Of course no. I hate seeing anyone sad when they’re supposed to be enjoying themselves.” Mr. Jones’s voice dropped to a whisper, “And even if there were other reasons, I’ve been told its improper to acknowledge them.”

Matthew swallowed. “I suppose it was foolish of me to think you had some other sort of intent then.”

“No, not foolish. Just improper.”

His mouth opened with the intent to say something, anything in response to that. But not a single word seemed to properly convey what he was feeling. Mr. Jones continued to watch him with that same intensity. A few moments passed like that before Matthew looked away, the implications making it difficult for him to breathe. 

The thoughts running through his mind weren’t thoughts he should have been having. Even loneliness wasn’t enough of an excuse for them. Yet, he couldn’t stop them just as he couldn’t stop being tempted by the allure of it all. Men shouldn’t think of each other in the same terms they thought of women and even if he didn’t particularly care if other men did, he knew he shouldn’t. It didn’t make any sense to him. Men were supposed to be attracted to women.

Hysterical laughter built up from the pit of his stomach. Matthew swallowed it back, refusing to let it out. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t let it out.

He didn’t even know what was funny.

“Matthew?”

“I apologize,” Matthew responded as the need to laugh finally died. “I really shouldn’t have questioned your motives so much.”

“For what? I promise your brother won’t find out you have feelings,” Mr. Jones joked.

“No need to worry about that, I’m afraid. I could be having intercourse on the dining room table and he likely still wouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.”

“You’ve put some thought to this then?”

Matthew sighed. “A bit. I wouldn’t have to if he paid the slightest bit of attention now and then.”

The conversation picked up from there and they talked the rest of the afternoon away. Most of it was trivial topics, such as complaining about the footmen or exchanging local gossip. Things Matthew normally despised taking part in but it didn’t seem to bother him as much as it had in the past. They both skirted around particular subjects, though Matthew was the one to keep his silence far more often than Mr. Jones did. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he talked for so long with someone who wasn’t Ivan, Katyusha, Gilbert, or Lars. Not having the constant reminder of their troubles on top of his own was nicer than he would have expected. Everything about talking to Mr. Jones was nicer than he expected them to be.

Eventually, the butler came to call alert them that dinner would be held within the hour and their conversation was forced to come to a close. The older man, whose name Matthew couldn’t remember for the life of him, stood by the door as he waited for them to vacate it.

“I should thank you for the pleasant conversation this afternoon, Mr. Jones. I don’t really get the opportunity to talk like this very often,” Matthew said, slowly standing up.

“No, thank you. I hope this isn’t the last chance we get to talk like this,” Mr. Jones replied, beaming.

“When are you and Mr. Kirkland planning on leaving then?”

“Early tomorrow morning but we’re staying in the village tonight. Art wants me to get started on my lessons. Says I’ve been gallivanting about far too much these past couple weeks. I don’t agree but what can I do about it?” 

“I should have expected as much,” Matthew said, sighing, “Will I see you at dinner, at least?”

“Of course! Art may have his pride but he’d also far too cheap to eat at the inn.”

“Then I’ll see you soon enough, Alfred.”

Mr. Jones grinned widely at the sound of his own name and Matthew felt the gesture being mirrored a bit less intensely on his own face. The butler coughed, reminding them of his presence. He nodded lightly, turning on his foot and leaving the study to prepare himself for the meal.

A warmth had nestled itself in his chest, sitting pleasantly between his lungs. Matthew didn’t quite understand what it was but he was content to let it sit there unquestioned. At least for the time being.

* * *

_October 3rd, 2014_

The rickety steps leading up to the attic creaked violently, causing both Matt and Al to look up from what they were doing. A grumbled swear followed a few moments later and Al snickered quietly to himself. Arthur’s head popped up through the hole in the floor then, frowning as he looked over at them.

“I see you found yourself some trouble there. I admit, I was hoping you wouldn’t find that old thing amongst the boxes, Matthew,” Arthur spoke up.

Al frowned at the pocketwatch still laying on the ground but that wasn’t what Arthur’s gaze was focused on. Arthur wasn’t even looking at Matthew and it took Al a few moments to realize it was the journal that Arthur was looking at. The leather bound journal snapped closed once he did. As if that would stop Arthur from being able to read it.

There was a moment’s pause as the words registered in Al’s head.

“You knew about it!” Al exclaimed, a moment too late. “Why didn’t you say anything? Matt and I have every right to know this stuff! Not to mention, it’s actually kind of interesting.”

“And why would I have told you? It’s private,” Arthur replied, frowning.

“Not really. I mean, Matt and I should be allowed to know there were some weird, other versions of ourselves out there.”

Arthur’s face was quickly turning a bright shade of red. “If you paid any sort of attention, you would know the journal dictates the life of one of my past reincarnations. That damn frog is the only one who played any major part in this! I don’t care what either of you did on my ship, reading about it is a serious invasion of my privacy.”

“What do you mean?” Matt interjected, “There’s been no mention of a ship. At least in the part I read of it.”

“Well, this reincarnation or whatever of Matt isn’t allowed to board any ships but that’s the only mention of a ship I’ve read about,” Al added in.

Pulling himself the rest of the way up, Arthur stared at them in disbelief. Al glanced down at the journal in his hands and opened it up to the first page again. Nothing had changed. But when he looked back up, his brother was looking at him in nervous anticipation.

“You sure this is the same journal you’re thinking about, Artie? I’ve had my theories about you losing it for a while now,” Al commented with a grin.

“Of course it’s the same journal! I recognize it easily enough, you bugger.”

“Why don’t you read out the first paragraph or so for us then? Just so we’re all on the same page here,” Matthew said.

Arthur nodded at that, ignoring Al’s protest as he snatched the journal from his hands. “Only because you asked so nicely, Matthew.

_“‘April 22nd, 1431,_

_“‘I didn’t join the rest of the crew for dinner again tonight. The cook made my favourite but I was drawn in by the sight of the setting sun on the horizon. We haven’t seen a damn thing except the sea herself for days now but the navigator assures me we’re headed in the right direction. Matthew may be meek compared to the rest of the crew but he knows how to hand a compass and for that, I trust him.’_

“Is that blood well enough for the two of you? My name’s even signed at the bottom of the entry but I figure you’ve seen it there already.”

Al could feel Matt’s eyes on him as the journal was handed back but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the journal itself. They were different . How could both he and Arthur be reading different things? It wasn’t even that Arthur was reading a part he hadn’t read yet. 

At first, he’d believed that Arthur was making it all up to mess with them but he didn’t think that was the case now. Al had watched his brother’s eyes following words on the page as he read them out loud and he knew Arthur wasn’t good enough of a liar to take it that far. Arthur’s voice hadn’t faltered and neither did he stop to think about what he was saying.

“It’s not the same, Artie,” Al quietly said, before he read out the first passage as well,

_“‘August 14th, 1763,_

_Even Ivan and Katyusha’s visit wasn’t enough to hold Francis off and neither were the rest of the guests. “Matthew” this and “Matthew” that, all in that almost exaggerated accent of his. The men back home are mistaken. We are nothing like the French, even if we do share a language. But I don’t know if that comes to me as a disappointment or a relief.’”_

“That’s what I read too,” Matt confirmed.

“But I know that book inside out and that bastard read it too,” Arthur muttered, “I know for a fact that we read the same the thing.”

Al stared back down at the journal’s cover. It was nearly impossible to believe Arthur had read something different from them, that the author of the journal had changed. All three of them looked a bit out of it at this revelation and Al felt almost overcome with exhaustion. And decidedly hungry.

“Maybe we should all go get a good night’s rest before we think about this anymore,” Arthur said tiredly, “Francis phoned before I came up here, Matthew. He just finished making something and we off about wanting to see your face when you tried it or some nonsense like that. You should probably ask him about the journal.”

“He finished the trifle then. But why should I ask Papa about this?”

“Because there’s another one, just like this, and he has it. I’m sure he’ll be more than capable of telling you all about it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Matthew watched the dark, dreary clouds as they filled the normally bright sky. A storm would be rolling in soon as well, he had no doubt about that. Everything seemed so much gloomier than it had the month before; even the roses seemed to have disappeared early for the season. Francis would likely be in a huff throughout the entire storm, worried about the damage it would do to his precious roses. It was impossible to deny that it was going to be a rough one though, not when trees were already shaking in the wind when the rain hadn’t even shown up yet. 

The other two men sitting in his bedroom didn’t seem nearly as worried about what was happening outside, however. He had long since stopped paying attention to what they were saying as well. It would be the same thing that it always was. Gilbert would be telling long, highly exaggerated stories of the adventures he had years before while Lars would ignore him in favour of his cigar. Matthew could hardly blame Lars for it. The stories were old and overdone while the cigars tasted as good as they always did.

“So, you see, after slipping some of the harder stuff into his drink, I started to tell him all about how hot it was and complimenting him on his nice muscles. The ladies over in the next-”

“Shut up, Gilbert. Matthew doesn’t want to listen to your old stories,” Lars stepped in.

Gilbert’s shoulders sagged, his enthusiasm draining out of him. “I swear that this just happened a few months ago! Besides, Birdie always enjoys it when I tell him about these things. A lot more than when you try and tell stories.”

“Says the ungrateful prick.”

“Of course I’m grateful for what Birdie’s done for me. You’re just an over sensitive, broke bastard whose opinion I couldn’t give two shits about.”

“So, you’re jealous now as well?”

“It would be really nice if the two of you were able to stop fighting,” Matthew spoke up, his voice quiet, “Neither of you are in the right here. I do enjoy listening to your stories, Gilbert, even if I have heard them over and over again. However, I’m not really in the mood to listen to them this afternoon. That doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t have told him that if they were truly bothering me though, Lars.”

All three of them fell silent. A faint smoky haze surrounded them as Lars smoked his thick cigar, the windows and doors firmly shut. Matthew took a deep breath, letting its strong smell fill his lungs as his eyes stayed trained on the window. Everything was much more peaceful now that Gilbert had stopped talking but there was something almost unsettling about the silence. It was almost as if there was no difference between him sitting there with Lars and Gilbert, and him sitting there by himself. Both seemed equally depressing.

Matthew tried to pretend that this was just an odd feeling that he’d been in today; that he would wake up in the morning and everything would be the same again. But he’d woken up in this mood almost consistently over the past month. If it hadn’t been for the servants, he was certain that he wouldn’t have even left his bed at all. It was only on Gilbert’s account that he’d left the house at all throughout the past two weeks now and even that had taken a bit of tooth pulling on his friend’s part. This was a despicable way to live but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“We’re not going to wait forever,” Lars commented, blowing more smoke from his mouth.

“You don’t know how much it pains me to say this, Birdie, but he’s right. You refuse to tell us why you’re so upset. Unfortunately, even I’m incapable of reading minds and I’ve waited more than long enough for you to tell me on your own account,” Gilbert said.

Lars snorted. “I can’t blame him for that part.”

“Shut it, smoke face! You should be glad that I let you in my glorious presence.”

“Never.”

“It’s only your own fault if you’re blind to my obvious superiority over the rest of the human race. But, Birdie, you haven’t even gone down to the conservatory in weeks now and I know that you love going down there to read in the sun.”

“We deserve an explanation.”

The words made Matthew sigh as he looked away from the dreary sky for the first time in hours. Both of his friends were looking back at him, their concern visible on their faces. It felt like something bitter exploded in the back of his mouth as he watched them, trying to figure out what to say to them. A thought of what he wanted to say lingered in the back of his mind but the words didn’t leave his mouth. 

His hands clenched as he pushed the possibility out of his mind. It had been a silly thought and not one that he should entertain. The longer that he looked at the two men though, the harder he found it to open his mouth and tell them what it was. It was like someone had frozen his mind, stopping anything him from even quite remembering what it was that had been bothering him so much. They were waiting for him to say something though, and he couldn’t disappoint them by saying nothing at all.

“I don’t know,” Matthew admitted, hesitating before he continued on, “Or at least, I don’t think that it could be what I believe it to be. Everything’s all a mess at the moment regardless.”

“We knew it. Your courtship with Katyusha has failed, hasn’t it?” Lars said, closing his eyes.

Gilbert leaned forward in his seat. “Oh, what happened? Did you betray her by going to the whorehouse and bedding a whore? There’s nothing to be ashamed of if you did, we were expecting it to happen some day. Or maybe she caught you with another woman! I knew you were holding back all the juicy details.”

“Try not to let your mind get too far in the gutter.”

“Both of you are wrong! Nothing has happened in regards to my courtship with Katyusha. I’ve been writing her as normal and both of us are satisfied with our current arrangement,” Matthew denied, shaking his head.

“I won’t judge you if something did happen,” Lars said as he stared intently at Matthew.

Gilbert’s grin was wide as his eyes filled with eagerness, “I wouldn’t either, dummkopf! Did her heart break when she found out you could never truly love her?”

“Gilbert, stop. She’s known that I don’t love her for a long time now and you know that.”

“Fine, fine! It’s not as if either one of us could judge you after everything anyways. Even if you were secretly killing off the handmaids in the middle of the night, I wouldn’t be the one to rat you out to the police. In fact, I would help you hide the bodies if you asked it of me.” 

“I would do it as well,” Lars added in.

“I think that may be going a bit too far, really. But, even then, it has nothing to do with Katyusha or secretly killing off maids. Really, it’s difficult enough to admit it to myself, nevermind to the two of you as well.”

Matthew looked over at Gilbert, their eyes meeting for a moment. He had forgotten that Gilbert might be able to understand what he was going through in the midst of all his worry. Though Gilbert had never directly come out and said anything about it, they still had a silent understanding of where each other stood on the matter. 

Revealing it wasn’t something he was entirely sure he wanted to do though. It was easier to keep it to himself where he was capable of denying that it existed, even to himself. Sometime people had to do that in order to save themselves. It was just deciding whether or not this was one of those times.

“Amazing things can pass you by while you’re thinking about this so much,” Lars commented, nonchalantly. 

Matthew and Gilbert turned their heads to gape at the Dutchman. One last billow of smoke came from Lars’ mouth before he ground the last bit of the cigar into the ashtray, not paying attention to either of them. Neither of them could figure out just how exactly to respond to the comment that had seemingly come out of nowhere. Were they supposed to laugh? Or perhaps it would be better if they ignored the words completely and continue on. It would even be fairly easy to pretend that the new found knowledge was complete and utter nonsense. 

“You bother think I’m stupid, don’t you?” Lars asked, dryly. 

“Of course not! I’m sorry - we’re both sorry, actually - that we responded in such an inappropriate way,” Matthew nervously pushed some of his hair behind his ear, “It’s a lot more complicated than that though. I would be sinning if I ever acted on my desires concerning this. Only the lowest pits of Hell would be acceptable for me then.”

“We’ve all sinned, Matthew.”

“You shouldn’t be so concerned about going to Heaven anyways, Birdie! That place is probably just going to be filled with boring, stuck up pricks who were never able to let loose and have a little bit of fun through their lives,” Gilbert added with a nod.

Matthew glanced back and forth between his two friends. The tension in his shoulders started to disappear and he felt so stupid. They both watched him confidently and he knew that no matter what he told them, they were be there for him. It was a wonder that he managed to such loyalty in a place where he was so unhappy and as his doubts started to disappear, he knew that any of his friends would accept him if he told them this.

“At the party last month, I… met someone,” he began.

“I knew it! There was no way that you’d be able to hide that lovesick expression from me, Birdie. I’ve seen it a million times before and you won’t be the last,” Gilbert exclaimed, leaning back in his chair.

Matthew shook his head. “That’s not all though. The person I met isn’t a woman. He… well, his name is Alfred Jones. He lived in the colonies up until now.”

“It’s a man?” Lars spoke up, his voice quiet.

“Yes, a man. That’s why I was so worried but he truly fascinates me. He could just look at me and I would give him the entire world if I could. It’s an odd feeling and I feel as if I should just ignore it because it’s truly disgusting but I find myself incapable of doing so.”

“And here I thought that you’d never feel that way towards anyone!” Gilbert said, a grin on his face, “You want to bed him, don’t you? You want to spend your life with him.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. I never thought that such a thing was possible.” 

“It is, Birdie. There’s nothing wrong with it either, or at least there shouldn’t be, no matter what the Bible says. You should send him a letter or ask if you stay in their home for a while.”

“No, I couldn’t. There’s no way that he could feel the same way about me. Besides, I don’t even know if that’s what I’m truly feeling.”

Matthew and Gilbert quickly got caught up in their conversation, discussing everything that he could do to meet up with Alfred once more. They barely even noticed as Lars grew quiet, excusing himself before the afternoon was over.

* * *

Al swung his hips to a silent beat as he put a couple pieces of bread into the toaster. The journal was sitting on the counter next to him; he’d been reading it almost non-stop all morning. While he stayed downstairs and safe from whatever was hiding in the attic. It was bad enough that he’d have to go up there when Matt got back.

His hips stopped moving as the doorbell rang, a smile spreading across his face. He ran for the door, forgetting about his breakfast for the time being. The faint outline of Matt could be seen through the clouded glass of the front door when he got there, just as he expected. Maybe one day Matt would stop bothering with ringing the doorbell whenever he showed up. Al seriously doubted that that day would ever come. 

The door was quickly opened and he smiled at Matt, “Hey, I was wondering when you were going to show up. I just need to grab my breakfast and then we can… Dude, you look like shit. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Matt muttered.

Matt stepped inside the house, a scowl on his face. The words he’d just read flashed through Al’s mind as he watched Matt peel off his thin jacket and deposit it onto the chair there, his shoes kicked off into the corner a moment later. Having sex with a man. Al had never thought about it before; he’d never considered it as a real option. Sure, he’d heard about stuff like that but he’d never put it into context with himself. Matt was gay even. Yet he’d never thought about his own position.

Every one of Matt’s features seemed to be highlighted in his mind because of this journal. Because of the attraction that Matthew had apparently held for Alfred. It made him notice Matt’s long eyelashes; the strong, lean muscles in his legs and back; those long, thin fingers.

“Al?”

Al snapped out of it. “What?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Anyways, as I was saying, I’m fine. I’m just a bit frustrated. Or a lot frustrated.”

“How come?” Al asked, walking towards the kitchen. 

“I told Papa about the journal last night. Apparently, it was in my best interests to hear all about what he and Arthur read about in it. He didn’t spare any of the details either. I really wish that he had.”

“Sweet! Shouldn’t you be excited that you got to find out all about that stuff? I tried asking Artie about it last night but he just kept saying that it was ‘none of my bloody business’!” 

“You don’t want to know. Trust me.”

Al frowned, his shoulders slumping. The entire thing was so exciting! Everyone seemed to be determined that he didn’t find out about the other side of the story though and he didn’t think that was even slightly fair. 

The pieces of toast were pulled out of the toaster and Al quickly got to work on buttering them. His stomach was growling and he wasn’t about to ignore it for any longer. Once his toast was buttered, he turned around and leaned against the counter, quickly digging into his food. Matt raised an eyebrow at him as he devoured his food within a couple of bites.

“Do you want something to eat?” Al asked, sheepishly smiling as he set his plate down in the sink.

“Nah, I’m good. Especially after that display.”

Al snickered at the disgusted look on Matt’s face. 

“Oh, you’re here already, Matthew?” Arthur asked as he walked into the room.

A strange, sick feeling started to build up in the pit of his stomach as Al watched his older brother walk in wearing nothing more than his boxers and an old t-shirt. He could see Matt’s eyes following Arthur’s every move. It made him sick. 

It was a connection that he’d ever made before now. Matt had told him countless times that he loved the look of a guy early in the morning, especially when they were only wearing a pair of boxers. Almost like what Arthur was wearing at the moment. It made him want to drag Matt out of the room, far away from Arthur and his stupid boxers. 

Arthur wasn’t good enough for Matt and he never would be.

“Yeah, I got here a few minutes ago. I didn’t want to waste anymore time than necessary,” Matt responded,

Arthur nodded absentmindedly, grabbing a mug from the cupboard, “Did you end up getting the journal from that bloody wanker? I doubt he had it buried away like I did.”

“He definitely didn’t hide it away; it was on his bookshelf. But I’m not allowed to look at it quite yet, apparently. Actually, he wanted me to tell you that he’s typing it up on his computer, even if you don’t approve of it. He was rather adamant after I told him that it was likely that only the two of you would be able to read it.”

“That frog!” the mug slammed down onto the counter, “I’m sorry but I’ll talk to you two later. I think it’s due time that I beat some sense into that man.”

Arthur stormed out of the kitchen, blind to everything except his rage. Then the front door slammed. Al looked over at Matt and both of them burst out into laughter the moment they made eye contact. That was just like Arthur to storm down the road instead of picking up the phone and calling them instead.

“Papa is going to be very happy when he opens the door to Arthur like that,” Matt commented, in between his laughter.

Alfred started to laugh even harder, “I know! Man, Artie’s going to be so embarrassed when he realizes that the entire neighbourhood just say him running down the road in his underwear.”

The two of them made eye contact again, the laughter starting all over again. The feeling was a contagious one and Al wasn’t even sure why it was so hilarious to the two of them. It just felt wonderful to laugh with Matt like this. Imagining Arthur’s face when he realized what he’d just done made it that nice bit sweeter though.

“Is Francis really typing that thing up?” Al asked when the moment had passed, “That seems a bit… invasive, actually. If it’s anything like the one here then the things in there are rather personal.”

“Yeah, he is. Papa isn’t really known for his ability to hold back, after all. He’d been going at it for about an hour before I left and I doubt that Arthur is going to be able to change his mind about it either,” Matt confirmed, looking exasperated.

“Oh man, Artie’s going to throw a spectacular fit!”

* * *

Matthew sat in one of the large, cushioned chairs in the library, sipping a cup of his favourite black tea. His body was relaxed and he looked a lot better than he had the day before. He’d made the effort to leave his room even though he couldn’t go much further with the weather so miserable. An odd look passed his face as the porcelain of the cup hit his tooth but it was gone in a flash as he returned to his thoughts.

Talking to Gilbert and Lars had done wonders for him and his state of mind. Already, he felt so much calmer than he had before; so much more acceptant of what he’d been feeling over the past month. He’d been so concerned about nothing, it seemed.

The sight of Francis caught the corner of his eye and he forced any thought of Alfred out of his mind. Neither of them said anything as Francis sat down in the chair across from Matthew with a glass of red wine in his grasp. Matthew looked away as Francis stared at him, finding sudden interest in his tea. For a moment, he felt ashamed of having his bare feet beside him on the chair but he pushed the feeling back. He refused to change simply because his older brother didn’t approve.

“Surely you’re not going to spend the rest of the evening in here moping, Mathieu. It’s bad enough that you’ve made yourself so scarce over the past month,” Francis said, putting his glass down on the small table beside him.

Matthew rolled his eyes, “Regardless of the rumours you might have heard, I’m not upset about anything. I can’t deny that I was a day or two ago but in the mean time, I’ve gotten over it. So there’s nothing that should concern you, unless it’s now become a crime to sit and drink some tea?”

“Mathieu, I don’t have to talk to Gilbert to find out that my petit frère has been upset.”

“For some reason, I’m not inclined to believe that.”

“Have I done something to make you hate me so?”

Shoulders tensing, Matthew took a sudden interest in his cup. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t shut out Francis’ words entirely. It took everything in his power not to get up and storm to his bedroom. He wasn’t in the mood for one of his brother’s guilt trips on why he hated him so much. There was only so much he could take before he blurted it all out.

“It seems that you do hate me then. Please, regardless of whatever it is that I’ve obviously done, don’t think that I’m so horrible as to not have noticed that you’ve been under the weather for weeks now. It wasn’t a little bird that informed me,” Francis begged.

But Matthew knew that even this was as fake as everything else his brother did. “I apologize. Your life is always so busy that it would be silly of me to think that you’d notice something as miniscule as my welfare. I wouldn’t expect anything else though, not when you’re still recovering from her death. Immersing yourself in silly social politics seems to have been your way of dealing with it.”

“I promise that it hasn’t been my intention to ostracize you.”

“Even if that wasn’t your intent, it was the outcome.”

Francis deflated at the harshly spoken words, forcing his gaze away from Matthew. “I have no excuses for you. Still, I’m grateful that you’re still here with me. Even if it doesn’t seem like it at times, I don’t know what I’d do if it were just me in this big, lonely house. I do feel, you know. I still see her around every corner, always just far enough away from me that I can’t reach her. Not a moment goes by without me thinking about her.”

“I know there’s nothing I can do about it. And even if I wasn’t here, the servants still would be.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it, Mathieu.”

Matthew averted his eyes and both of them fell silent. Getting up and leaving meant that they were giving into the other but neither of them knew what they should do next. They were at a standstill. Or at least, that was how Matthew thought of it. It was how he’d thought of every single one of their conversations, ever since he’d come to this place a couple of years previous. They were battles that needed to be won with each sentence spoken affecting the final outcome. But he knew that one day he would lose the war.

“I’d like it if you were to accompany to Spain in order to visit Antonio next week. We haven’t had enough time alone with each other,” Francis spoke up, picking up his glass once more and swirling the liquid around in it.

“And what if I don’t wish to go with you?” Matthew automatically responded.

“I hope that you’ll reconsider that. We’ve never truly gotten the chance to bond like we should have as children and I truly want to remedy that.”

“It’s far too-”

“Please, Mathieu.”

“Fine, I’ll go with you to Spain next week,” Matthew frowned, “I doubt that anything will change but there’s nothing stopping me from doing my part.

“Thank you.”

Matthew didn’t say another word as Francis got up. They didn’t exchange any more pleasantries and he felt an odd sense of loss as he watched Francis walk away from him. The gap between them had slowly started to become a chasm sometime over the past six months. Bringing the two of them together would be nearly impossible from now on. Maybe it was better this way; better to be estranged from the brother he didn’t truly know.

That had been a battle that he hadn’t won.

* * *

Al leaned back in the rocking chair, the leather journal open on his lap. It was a lot harder to focus on the words on the page than it had been the day before, or even earlier that morning. Whenever he read more than a sentence or two at a time, he would get distracted by Matt sifting through the boxes. It didn’t seem like anything too interesting at the moment anyways. There was nothing in there about him, which there totally should have been! Those parts were always a lot more exciting to read.

“Al, are you alright?” Matt spoke up.

His body jerked, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Huh? Oh, I’m fine! I just got a bit distracted there for a moment.”

“Alright then.”

Matt looked at him for a moment and he dutifully went back to trying to read the journal. The words seemed to blur in front of his eyes though. Continuously slipping away whenever his attention even somewhat faded from where it was supposed to be. 

The pocket watch was pulled out of his pants pocket it for a moment. Al turned it over in his hand, letting his fingers run over the fine details that made it so beautiful. It opened with a soft click and he stared at his name carved into the metal on the inside. One of many mysteries that hadn’t been solved yet. It seemed like more and more questions kept coming up the longer they searched for the answers. He gently closed it again, slipping it back into his pocket. 

“Do you want to come downstairs with me to make some hot chocolate?” Al asked, sheepishly, “I don’t think that I’m capable of focusing on this too much right now. I mean, I know that I’m wonderful at taking things in and all that but this is a bit much to make sense of. Right?”

“Well, I’m not going to comment on your normal reaction to things but this is a bit… much,” Matt agreed, cracking a smile, “I’m guessing that you want me to make the hot chocolate for you?”

“Who else would be making the hot chocolate? Definitely not me! Not when nothing can compare to your hot chocolate.”

“You know, I don’t do anything spec-”

“Shh, you’ll ruin magic of it.”

Al shot a grin towards Matt before he quickly climbed down the stairs. He practically raced down to the kitchen, barely even checking to see if Matt was following him down. He knew that Matt was. That was something that the two of them were used to. It was something normal.

Not like the things that Al had been reading in that journal. The things that Matthew had felt towards Alfred long ago. Those were things that Al didn’t want to think about. It wasn’t normal. It didn’t fit with how he’d always thought about the world. He was good friends with Matt and they always had been good friends but that was all they were. His perception of everything was changing though with this extra layer of reality. It was making him see things that he’d never wanted to see.


End file.
